


Grimmnet Drabbles

by hydrangeamaiden



Series: Grimmnet Collection [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Un-death, Childbirth, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Egg Laying, Eggs, F/M, Fluff, Living Together, Recovery, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/pseuds/hydrangeamaiden
Summary: Hornet had prepared for a Hallownest with no Grimm, no siblings, only the eggs slowly incubating inside of her. Things never work out the way she thinks they will.
Relationships: Grimm/Hornet (Hollow Knight)
Series: Grimmnet Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551010
Comments: 17
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

The Troupe’s looming tents have long since left Dirtmouth, leaving behind only a small yurt at the edge of town. A single red lantern serves as Hornet’s beacon as she marches along. Ghost had insisted on carrying her luggage, but she declined. It’s only one carpet bag, she reasoned, and she doesn’t need a chaperon. They still followed her all the way from their shared house to the metal bench, where they sat down and watched until she was out of sight.

Hornet can’t say she doesn’t understand their concern, nor Grimm’s. It’s why she ultimately accepted his invitation. When one lives in a tent, though, how does she knock? She can’t, so she raises her voice: “I’ve arrived.”

Almost immediately after she says this, Grimm sweeps the curtains over. She catches a glimpse of the dull red lining of his cloak, before he sweeps her off her feet into an embrace. Alas, she cannot hug him back: her hands are full.

“I am not a stuffed toy,” she grumbles half-heartedly into his shoulder, as he nuzzles into her neck. He clucks with disappointment and sets her down, though he’s still smiling all the way into the tent. Though small, it is no less grand than his previous dwelling. She hangs her needle on the coat stand, puts her bag on a chair, and looks around.

Quite mysteriously, there are two openings at the far end of the room that definitely do not lead outside. She looks through both of them, seeing a bathroom and a familiar bedroom. She knew she recognized that chaise from somewhere. A blush creeps up her shell, and she retreats to the main room. Grimm, who has fixed a pot of tea, watches her expectantly from the little table. Hornet seats herself across from him.

“Ginger tea,” he explains, when she eyes the contents of her teacup. “I’m glad you took me up on my offer. It gets lonely here, what with my troupe all gone...How are your siblings?”

“They won’t stop fussing over me,” she complains. “I swear they’ve gone _broody_.”

“’Twould make sense. You put yourself in harm’s way, despite being gravid,” Grimm moves around the table, and drapes his arms around Hornet’s shoulders. It feels like being hugged by a warm blanket, and she gratefully leans into his touch.

She remembers standing outside of the Temple of the Black Egg, keeping vigil until little Ghost had come  to vanquish the Old Light. The Hollow Knight’s pained howling still haunts her nightmares, how easy it had been to rush in and pin them down. There was no other way. Ghost couldn’t have held them still long enough.

“I was protecting my eggs,” Hornet corrects him. “If I had stood idle, there wouldn’t have been a Hallownest to raise them in.”

“Remarkable.” Grimm pulls away from her, with a sweeping bow. In a blink, he’s near the door, gathering Hornet’s belongings. She prickles a little when he touches her needle, but says nothing as he ferries her things to the bedroom. “Make yourself at home. There’s not much here in the way of entertainment, I regret, but you will at least be comfortable.”

Hornet looks down into her half-finished tea. Maybe she will.


	2. Chapter 2

Dirtmouth is still cold from the night when Grimm awakens. There is but a glance of sunlight peeking over the crest of the mountains that will not make it to the yurt until closer to noon. The wind has stilled in the night, leaving the surface in a state of deathly quiet. He must have awoken several times from fitful slumber, expecting the murmurs of the Grimmkin or the wheeze of Brumm’s accordion. He is accustomed to some level of noise throughout the night.

The reality is that Grimm is bereft, save for the small figure nestled against his side. He blinks slowly as memories of their dalliance return to him. It was supposed to be just that, but here he is sharing a bed with her. And here she is, the prickly thing, with an arm draped across his middle and sighing softly into his chest. His interest in her had, initially, been purely physical. She was so many things at once, in such an unassuming body.

That was his only impression of her at first: a background figure, watching her older sibling warily as they brought flames for the ritual. When the Ghost came with their child, he would inevitably look towards the tent entrance for a glimpse of that dark red cloak of hers. He did not so much as fall in love as accidentally wander into it: first when he overheard her laughter, the way she would dance about from one place to another, little things that cultivated into an infatuation from afar. She was his specimen behind a glass wall, unable to be touched or approached.

Why and how do bugs fall in love? What is the initial spark that grows into a warm hearth? When, exactly, did Grimm look at Hornet and realize that he wanted to last beyond the ritual?

In the first place, there was no glass wall.

Grimm puts an arm around Hornet, and lays her atop his chest. Such a heavy sleeper is she that she does not react at all. He strokes up and down her back, and curls a protective hand over the back of her head. He brushes out the wrinkles in her cloak, caresses her horns, and holds one of her hands. Her palm has the slightest give when he presses his thumb to it. He brings it to his mouth to kiss, and marvels at how cool it feels even after a night spent with him.

Hornet makes a small, sleepy noise, and he chuckles. A kiss to her white forehead awakens her, and briefly she opens her eyes. While she is still gathering her wits about her, he kisses her once more.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he croons as she lifts her head. Her eyes are half-closed and, God, she’s adorable. Hornet mumbles something or another, and puts her arms around his neck. When she nuzzles her head under his chin, he just about dies. He sits up against the pillows, and pulls the blanket over the two of them. “Tired, are we?”

“Hmph. I didn’t sleep well,” Hornet sighs. “Didn’t you have to be somewhere this morning…?”

“Well, yes, but I think I’d rather stay like this.” He rubs Hornet’s back between the shoulder blades. “Don’t you?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Hornet’s eyes droop shut. Her shell is noticeably reddened when Grimm peppers her face with little kisses. He firmly kisses her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent and relishing in the warmth spreading through her with each touch. What a sweet lady he has.


	3. Chapter 3

There was nothing particularly special about the City of Tears that Hornet didn’t already know about. Any piece of history she wanted to find would be right where she left it. Then, after the stasis ended, the seasons began to change and the ever-present rain softened into snow. This unprecedented event had succeeded in startling Hornet, who promptly ran for Dirtmouth to alert her siblings. Once the two had bundled up and gone down below, she went to the next place she could think of: Grimm’s tent.

Somewhere along the line, Grimm had become one of the first people she would share important news first. The short while they’ve spent living together is certainly helping. She is still shy to share a home with someone who isn’t her family, but no longer knocks before coming in.

“It’s snowing underground,” she reports, grabbing him by the wrist. “It hasn’t done that in ages. You _must_ come see.”

When they reach the King’s Station, their breath is coming out in puffy clouds. Because it’s under the cover of a roof, the station itself is free from snow. However, there’s a pervasive chilliness in the air that drives Hornet—dressed in flannel and fleece, no less—to Grimm’s side. His natural warmth means that there’s no need for layering up, and he is more than happy to wrap a wing around Hornet’s shoulders.

Where there were once puddles of water are now sheets of ice, hidden by puffs of snow. The bugs who have come out to enjoy the weather must tread carefully. Ghost has made a game of sliding across the ice and frozen waterways, much to the chagrin of a very concerned Hollow.

“My, my. I had no idea this was possible. I was under the impression that the closest thing Hallownest had to snow was ash,” Grimm remarks. “Who thought that weather could be interesting?” The snow dissolves wherever he steps, blazing a path from near the King’s Station all the way to the center fountain. Hornet bounds ahead of him, wanting to experience this strange phenomenon before it becomes victim to the Troupe Master’s body heat.

Hornet, nimble as she is, has no trouble navigating the icy patches on the ground. She twirls, and leaps over a frozen stream onto a snow-laden platform. The armor of a long-deceased guard sticks out from beneath its white blanket, and Hornet respectfully covers it up again.

“Believe it or not, this used to happen every winter,” Hornet says. “But not everywhere. Few places in Hallownest have such a reliable source of precipitation.”

G rimm, who watches her as she speaks, is not careful enough to miss the stream that Hornet had just leaped over. It melts the moment he steps on it. His eyes widen as he goes down, and even Hornet puts a hand to her mouth in shock. He resurfaces in a circle of steaming water, wings flapping furiously and coughing water.

“Grimm!” Hornet leans over the edge, and when she sees his shocked expression, cannot help but laugh. “You look _ridiculous_.”

She takes his outstretched hand, and hauls him  up onto the ledge. The water rolls off him in waves of steam, but even so she feels obligated to lead him indoors. To think that she would see Grimm embarrassed. He sits with his legs crossed as though nothing had happened, yet there’s a flush in his cheeks that stands out against the white of his mask. She sits next to him and pretends to clean her weapon, but keeps him in her periphery. He puts an arm around her and draws her to his side, as if her naturally chilly body would keep him warm. Lovable fool. She knows he’s doing that because he likes the close contact. Without further conversation, they watch the snow outside fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Grimm lowers the needle to the record, filling the room with the sultry crackle of strings, played by bugs long-gone. It is not the same as the rich, deep instruments of the old circus, nor the wheedling whistle of a metallic flute, but that’s what Grimm loves about music: there are as many songs as there are bugs. This particular one does not rouse Hornet from the overstuffed armchair she is resting on.

“Are you going to sit there all day? Dance with me,” he demands, hand extended. Hornet sighs, and lifts herself as though standing itself were a great effort. Grimm, noticing this, cannot help but tease her: “What is the matter? Surely the Princess of Hallownest has learned to dance, during those bygone days in the Pale Court?”

“I am exhausted,” says Hornet. Her deadpan expression cracks when Grimm sweeps her into his arms. With an arm around her waist and her hand in his, he twirls to the center of the room. The chorus of the old song picks up, and Hornet has no choice but to be carried along for the ride. The faint flush in her shell says everything: she wouldn’t have this any other way.

They can scarcely hear the music over the insistent thrum of rain, and the diminishing quality of the record player. When the vinyl starts to squeal, Grimm flicks the needle away, and the endless fall of freezing water becomes their accompaniment.

“To tell the truth, I always went and hid whenever the Palace held those balls,” Hornet confesses. What she once saw as just an annoyance is now a fond memory for her to giggle at. “Everyone was so stiff and formal. I couldn’t stand it.”

“It’s never too late to learn.” Grimm goes to set her down, but she holds onto him tight.

“I prefer it like this,” Hornet protests, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Alright, Princess,” Grimm teases. He goes through the steps of a waltz alone, with one of Hornet’s hands enfolded in his. She leans on him, eyes drooped shut and humming softly. This one is a song that does not exist, that will cease to exist once they’ve left this room and forgotten it. In a way, those candid tunes are the most beautiful of them all. And it is always a pleasure to hear Hornet hum or sing.

Her soft voice cuts off with a sharp gasp, and both of them freeze. Hornet’s eyes have popped open, and she lowers one shaking hand to her abdomen.

“Hornet?” Grimm peers down at her, worry beginning to swell in his chest. He adjusts his hold on her to that of a bridal carry, and lowers himself to a kneel. A faint red glow blooms beneath her splayed hand, which is beading with sweat. Her fingers curl against her carapace, expression contorted by grimace.

It’s quite obvious what’s about to happen, and they’re miles from Deepnest, from the capable hands of the Midwife. Without his connection to the Nightmare Heart, Grimm can’t teleport as far as he used to. The furthest, he wagers, is the King’s Station to the south, and from there they can ride to Deepnest. Grimm has always been one to act without hesitation, but in this moment, he is wrought with fear. It paralyzes him, seeing the usually confident hunter convulsing in his arms.

“ _Grimm_.” Hornet’s pedipalps paw at the air. “W-We should go.”

Her strained voice is enough to snap him out of it. Cradling her beneath the protection of his cloak, he disappears and reappears at the stag station. The furiously ringing bell brings the Old Stag rumbling to the platform.  Being a friend of Ghost, he recognizes their sister immediately and raises their voice in alarm. There is no way he can transport the two without a bumpy ride, but that is a discomfort they are willing to endure.

By the time they’ve reached the Distant Village, Hornet is clenching her jaw to avoid crying out. These muffled groans of pain are the only sound in the cold, dripping cavern. Grimm drops from platform to platform, his destination being a small cave on the lake’s shore. As soon as they reach the Midwife, everything will be fine, he tries to reassure himself , no matter how unprecedented the situation. This is,  after all, the first time another has borne his eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been hard to focus on writing lately, and to write up to my usual standards. Yes, I am working on the next chapter of Purity is Fake, but as usual I must brainstorm ahead so I don't write myself into a corner. Thank you all for your patience!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the chapter where Hornet lays her eggs! Eggs!

Since the decline of Hallownest, the safest place to lay eggs has, ironically, become Deepnest. Specifically, the nook at the foot of the Distant Village, in the southwest end of the biome. Not only is it completely free of Deepnest’s traditional dangers, it is home to a particularly clever centipede who has been assisting in egg-laying and hatching since before Hornet was born.

Despite the severity of the situation, the Midwife happily takes Hornet into her many arms, and bears her away to her den. She had overseen Hornet’s own birth, and thus is the closest thing the huntress has to a living caregiver.

In a way, the Midwife’s joviality puts Hornet at ease. This is an experienced bug who knows what she’s doing. No matter how unorthodox Hornet’s eggs are, they will still be laid like any other spider’s.

“This will get in the way, trust me,” says the Midwife, amid Hornet’s protests at her cloak being removed. “Now, no need to be modest. I’ve seen everything. If you’re still cold, you may have a blanket.”

She settles Hornet into a nest that has not seen use for at least several decades. Like most beds in Deepnest, it is a round plinth that has been carved into, and lined with all manner of spider thread and cushioning. If not for the pain, she would have appreciated this more. While she struggles to get comfortable, the Midwife brings in her supplies, seemingly out of nowhere: wood for a fire, a small tub, a stack of towels with frayed edges.

Grimm appears at Hornet’s side, draping a blanket over her shivering and sweating form. She clutches the fabric to herself so that her legs are sticking out, and focuses on her breathing. Grimm squeezes her hand once before going to the Midwife. Instead of a slowly built fire, he sets the wood aflame in controlled crimson. Water from the lake is boiled and left to cool to a comfortable warmth, and it is then that Hornet feels the urge to push. The Midwife notices this, and is by her side in an instant.

This being Hornet’s first clutch, she is unacquainted with the signs that her body is giving her. Overwhelmed by pain, she squeezes her eyes shut and holds Grimm’s hand so tightly that she’s afraid it’ll crack. He rubs her arm soothingly, remaining a quiet and comforting presence as the Midwife instructs her to breathe and push at regular intervals. Her vision fills with static snow, and her tympanum ring as pressure builds in her abdomen. A damp cloth runs along her shell, cooling her feverish body.

Other spiders do this, and regularly, but laying even one egg is a trial that makes Hornet’s conscious swim. Still, she continues to struggle, to the point that she even forgets to breathe. The Midwife’s alarmed voice sounds distant, but the eggs…her eggs…

When Hornet’s eyes open, her vision is clear and her body is comfortably warm. She hears the crackle of flames, and sees its glow in her periphery. Her abdomen, stiff and numb, prompts her to peek under the blanket. She is surprised to see bandages around her stomach.

“Don’t touch that,” comes the Midwife’s voice. She leans over Hornet, tucking the blanket around her and stroking her shoulder. “You’re a tough girl, but you’ll need rest after what you’ve been through.”

“What happened?” Hornet asks groggily. As she ventures further into wakefulness, she becomes aware of Grimm, curled up around her.

“One of the eggs was too big, so I removed it myself,” the Midwife says. She lumbers away from the nest to...do something. “I dare say you would’ve split yourself in half with the effort, otherwise.”

As Hornet struggles to process this, Grimm lays a kiss on her forehead.

“You did fantastically, my dear,” he croons against her shell. Hornet’s not so sure about that, but she’s too tired to argue. She’s too worried about the eggs. Are they safe? Did all of them make it? She didn’t go through the trouble of carrying them, just to lose them. She tries to sit up, and Grimm, sensing her uneasiness, compromises by sitting up with her in his lap. From here, she can see the Midwife wiping off the eggs. There are four of them, translucent and orb-shaped. Two of them are glowing red. They are no longer just a concept, or a conversation topic, or a weight on the back of her mind. This is real.

The Midwife puts each egg onto Hornet’s lap, and she runs her fingers over their smooth surfaces. Just beneath, she can see the wiggling forms of what will become her hatchlings. What kind of bugs will they be? Who will they resemble? Will they love her?

It’s a lot to take in. She wants to do good by them, but she’s terrified. The mortality rate for spiderlings is high; they are so delicate. They had been the first to go when the Infection hit Deepnest. Even a mundane blight from the Fungal Wastes could kill them. She has protected Hallownest’s corpse for years, but it was already dead. How will she protect four squirmy children?

Grimm speaks first, with fond, starry eyes. “They’re beautiful.” He cups one of them ever-so-gently, marveling at its foggy, water drop appearance. They are soft-shelled and delicate, prompting Hornet to begin weaving a sac for them. She embeds the eggs within the soft, thick silk, which she then seals shut. When they hatch, they will chew their way out.

When they _hatch_. Hornet hugs the sac to her chest, and closes her eyes. Grimm is saying something to her, to which she replies with soft murmurs until she drifts off into peaceful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

In the week since Hornet laid her eggs, she has regained her energy and spirits with such fervor that even Grimm finds it hard to believe she had undergone surgery. The sluggishness she had displayed when carried back to Dirtmouth now feels like something that had just been imagined. Each morning, Hornet awakens with the first glimpse of dawn, wraps a sash around her bandaged middle, and goes out. Grimm has taken to staying at home with the eggs; his natural body heat is just what they need during this consistently chilly weather.

As for Hornet, she can’t stay still for a minute. She returns home mid-morning with woven nets of dead bugs, nuts, and berries, which she squeezes into the already-full food stores.

“Darling, that’s all going to go bad before we can eat it all,” Grimm calls from the nest, head lifted to watch her. There’s a deep imprint in the covers from the eggs, around which he is curled. When Hornet approaches, he props himself up on an elbow. “How is your wound?”

“It’s starting to scar over.” Hornet leans down and pecks him on the mouth. She then turns her gaze fondly to the eggs. In the pit of her stomach, there’s a fluttering feeling, as if she swallowed a live maskfly. Looking at the eggs always does that to her. “And we need all of this food for when they hatch. If you’re that worried, invite Ghost or Hollow over for dinner. They’re like black holes when it comes to food.”

The thought resurfaces that she should return to them. When she arrived, she had it in her mind to do so once she had laid the eggs. It isn’t that she has been neglecting them. Their house is among her daily stops around Hallownest. But when prompted about her stay with Grimm, she answered that she wasn’t ready to come home. The eggs needed to hatch first. Once she had decided on a nesting place, there was no changing that. All of her energy has gone towards caring for the egg sac and her mate.

Hornet practically skips out of the tent. She’s not complaining at all. Having something specific to protect that isn’t just ‘all of Hallownest’ has filled her with renewed vigor, even more than when she was taking care of her siblings. Ghost—despite their seniority in age—is still quite little. They would fit on her back, should she carry the younglings with her when they hatch. Wolf spiders do it naturally, but she wouldn’t feel confident without some kind of sling. Possibly a basket. Before she even reaches the well, she’s already thinking about what materials she’ll use, and how she’ll prepare them.

Despite Hornet’s frequent comings and goings, she has been sticking to a schedule the past few days. So, when evening rolls around and she hasn’t come back once, Grimm picks himself up, and carries the egg sac across town to the siblings’ house.

“No...haven’t seen her,” the Hollow Knight rumbles, when questioned about their sister’s whereabouts.

Grimm tucks his cloak closer around the egg sac. This is unsurprising, but a little worrying. His brooding instincts have been not only for the eggs, but for Hornet as well. Even the slightest possibility of danger is enough to send his thoughts spiraling.

“That’s alright. Might you do me a favor, and watch the little ones for me?” Grimm requests. Hollow nods, but when he tries handing them the egg sac, they shake their head and point to their stump arm. “Ah, no need to be worried, but how about you wait at the tent? Your sister suggested bringing the two of you over for dinner.” Grimm gestures for Hollow to follow him. There’s no need to ask for Ghost. If they smell dinner cooking, they will inevitably show up.

Hollow creeps into the tent after him, arm crossed and hunched over. They try not to touch anything, and appear grateful when Grimm directs them to a chair in the bedroom. The egg sac is returned to its place on the bed, with pillows around to keep it warm, and finally Grimm feels comfortable enough to leave them alone. Though the Hollow Knight is meek, he knows they can at least keep the eggs safe.

With Hallownest being as big as it is, searching its breadth for one spider seems intimidating at first. There are, however, a few locations in which Hornet spends a lot of time. Grimm decides to start with those.

Among these locations are several smaller sections, which are Hornet’s favorites. Grimm visits the City of Tears first, wishing he had the Grimmkin at his beck and call. He’d have a proper search party to look through the rest of the city. She’s not at the fountain, nor at the spire. Just in case, he even checks the Tower of Love, and is relieved that she is not present among the...specimens...inside.

Kingdom’s Edge is next. Deep within the tunnels, the final resting place of the Pale Wyrm is packed in with ash-mingled snow. There are no signs that Hornet has tended to the grave recently. The flowers placed there are withered, and dusted with ash.

Just in case, Grimm ascends to the Colosseum of Fools. Hornet has complained about that place more than once, but when finances are tight, even she partakes in battle for some quick Geo. It wouldn’t be out of the question for her to go there, even in her current condition. Hallownest’s market is minimal but growing; money can buy fabric, furniture, or even toys that she wouldn’t be able to make on her own. Grimm gleefully swings the Little Fool hanging from the ceiling like a cat toy, but the pitiful bug has not seen Hornet at all.

As a last resort, Grimm finds Bardoon. Hornet has spoken of him before as someone who knew her father, and his size makes him someone impressive. The two’s conversation could have gone on for hours, but Grimm restrains himself. He’s here to find Hornet. Bardoon himself hasn’t seen her in a while, and Grimm fills him in on the situation before continuing onwards.

He should have gone to Greenpath first, but he didn’t know better. He thought that the nest and the tent were enough for the eggs, and hadn’t considered that his brooding mate would have gone off to gather materials. A forested area in any kingdom is a treasure trove, where edible berries are jewels and moss is the finest velvet. He’s ashamed at himself for overlooking it. Because of its enclosed location, it enfolds heat and humidity such that it warms him even on a cold day like this.

The first sign that he’s on the right track is a recently-made trap: a spider’s web, hanging innocuously among a curtain of vines; moss torn from the loamy earth. He follows an acid creek upstream, and finds a discarded net just outside a nook. He wouldn’t have paid that hole in the wall any mind, but then he hears the sound of someone struggling to breathe. His wings flare in alarm, and he pushes aside a moss-covered stone to see a red-clad figure huddled in the corner.

That Hornet is sitting upright without support is a relief, until he notices the dark stain on her abdomen. She has a clump of moss pressed to the wound, taken from a pile she must have been collecting along the way. Next to it are vines, bundled together with a rope of silk.

“I was wondering where you went off to.” Grimm, too big to fit inside with her, extends a hand. Hornet, instead of taking it, hands him the materials she collected. It’s admirable and even a bit endearing how she doesn’t want to waste anything, but she’s getting her priorities mixed up.

“You’re getting your priorities mixed up, darling. Here.” He seizes her hand and pulls her right into his arms.

“I...am not leaving empty-handed,” Hornet gasps. She lifts her cloak to expose the bloodied sash, now loose around her waist. Just beneath that, the bandages have been soaked through.

“What happened?” is all Grimm can ask. He’s large enough to hold Hornet in one arm, while he makes his ascent. Because he can’t discern how deep the wounds are, he can’t run. He might jostle her and aggravate her injuries. What he always saw as a short walk back to the surface now feels irritatingly long.

“A ledge I was standing on crumbled.” Hornet squeezes her eyes shut, bearing the pain as best as she can. She had struck her needle into the wall, which had also fallen apart. Greenpath is fed in the winter by snow melt, but as a result, the increased precipitation makes the ground soft. She’s lucky to have been found, otherwise she would’ve had to spend at least a day patching up her own wound, all while worrying about her eggs.

Her eyes pop open. “Grimm, where are the eggs?”

“Fret not: the Hollow Knight is watching over them,” Grimm soothes. They’ve left Greenpath for the cold Crossroads. The feral bugs that always swarm here have since left for the winter, seeking warmer shelter. Almost as an apology, the winds that always rush over Dirtmouth have subsided, making the cold easier to bear. Though Hornet feels no discomfort, being carried against Grimm’s fireplace chest.

She’s hardly placated by the time they reach Grimm’s tent. For once, she had been excited to go back to exploring the old ruins. Foraging had regained some of its novelty in the time she was gravid, and now she must be deprived of it at such a critical time.

“Ah, thank you my friends,” Grimm is saying, and Hornet opens her eyes to the sight of her siblings sitting at the bedside. They get up in unison, startled by her condition, but she waves them off. Still they hover nearby, until Grimm instructs them to check the medicine cabinet.

Hornet could have changed into a fresh cloak without assistance, but as usual, Grimm feels the need to dote on her. His spread wings form a curtain behind which he swiftly removes her cloak, sash, and bandages. They both see the reopened wound for the first time, and though Hornet doesn’t consider herself to be squeamish, she feels her stomach turn. It looks as if someone had taken a seam ripper to her, but gave up halfway.

The Hollow Knight reenters, sees all of this, and immediately kneels to cover Ghost’s eyes. As if neither of them have had grisly injuries of their own. Ghost shakes them off, and brings a basket to the bedside. They are, after all, the closest this group has to a healer. The Hollow Knight can’t afford to spare any of their Soul reserves, which heals almost all wounds without the need for medical supplies. Hornet will not be suturing herself up this time.

At the very least, Hornet has a blanket over her shoulders to preserve her modesty, while Ghost presses their hands to her wound. Once the gash has closed, Grimm swaddles her torso in bandages and hands her her clothes. The affair is far more intimate than she would have liked, with three other bugs crowding her. Once dressed, she shoos everyone out and goes to be with her eggs.

It’s hard to believe that just an hour ago, she was struggling alone with an open wound. Ghost’s work was impeccable. She lies on her side and strokes one of the glowing orbs, deep in thought.  When the voices quiet down and Grimm joins her in bed, she only acknowledges him with a glance.

“Feeling better?” He settles down behind her, draping an arm around her middle. Hornet hums in reply, and puts her hand over his. A warm and savory fragrance becomes apparent, and she lifts her head.

“What’s that?”

“You suggested I invite them for dinner, remember?”

“Oh. I forgot.” Hornet lies back down, and watches through the cloudy surfaces of the eggs. Something tiny, no bigger than her palm, is wiggling inside one of them. Her would could have gotten seriously infected, or been much deeper. And then what would have happened, had the eggs hatched and she wasn’t there? Yet she refuses to give up on her usual habits. In Hallownest, you need to work hard for your food.

H ow do other spiders do it? She wishes there were still Weavers around to ask.

“The things I gathered were to make a basket,” Hornet explains, unprompted. “For the eggs, before and after they hatch. It’s common among certain spiders to carry their egg sacs with them.”

“Hmmm.” Grimm laces his fingers through hers.

“But instead of just the egg sac, here was what I was thinking...”

Ghost peeks through the curtain, and seeing that everything is alright, leaves them be.


	7. Chapter 7

It has no business being this cold in Hallownest, no matter how far north they are. Hornet isn’t actually aware of the kingdom’s geographical location, has never seen a world map in her life. Grimm’s revelation that they’re in the Northern Hemisphere doesn’t help matters. It’s too cold for Hornet to take the eggs outside in her new basket, so when she recovers, she is forced to leave them behind when going out to forage. Her only passenger is Ghost, who, along with her other siblings, have committed to visiting her regularly.

“I told you we’d need all that food,” Hornet says as she pokes Grimm’s cheek. Half a dozen Vessels have gathered inside, seeking shelter from the cold. They have their own homes, but the tent is as pleasant as a warm spring day.

Grimm sits up. Visitors are fine, and there’s a lot of food, but it’s not enough to sustain this many Vessels every day. Hornet turns to leave the bedroom, but is stopped by a pair of arms around her waist.

“I’d like to stretch my legs. How about we switch places?” Grimm pulls her onto his lap, and runs a hand between her horns. She leans into his touch, objecting at first, but they both know she needs the rest. She’s still recovering from her injury, and has spent little time with the eggs since laying them.

“As you wish.” Hornet wriggles out of his arms to lie down with the eggs. She turns them over to evenly distribute the heat, and picks a piece of lint of off one of the shells. Before she can do much more, she lets out a great yawn.

“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you,” says Grimm, with a kiss to her forehead. He turns the lamp down low, and sweeps into the main room. Through a gap in the curtains, Hornet sees a few Vessels approach and tug at his cloak like children. It’s like she’s peeking out into a different world, one that’s brighter and more animated than the little enclave she is resting in.

She has been on her feet for most of the day, like most days. The mattress pulls her body into soft oblivion, where there is nothing but herself, her eggs, and that sliver of the outside.

Sleep comes to her in fits. She drowses, awakens to a sudden noise, and then slips back into unconsciousness. A savory and sweet fragrance wafting past the curtains brings to her dreams images of the cafes and restaurants that used to be in the City of Tears. She can almost hear the thrum of rain on stone, and the indistinct chatter of bugs. In front of the hearth she imagines a table, upon which a waiter sets a platter of fine meats and a still-bubbling soup.

The scene melts into the darkness of her room, but the smell is still there. Hornet sits up, and a blanket she doesn’t remember crawling under slides down her back.

“Grimm?” she croaks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. In a moment he is by her side, turning on the lantern and putting the blanket back over her shoulders. “How long was I asleep?”

“About three hours. Would you like your dinner in bed?”

“I...” Hornet yawns. She doesn’t want to get up, manners be damned. “Alright.”

Grimm snaps his fingers, and an end table that looks to be made from patchwork appears at the side of the bed. While he’s off fetching her a bowl, she turns the eggs over and even cups one in her hands. Inside the shell is something like a deep mist, wherein a round, fetal thing squirms. Afraid that she has disturbed it, she puts it back with the others. She’s just in time for Grimm, who has reentered with a tray with both their servings. A handful of Vessels trail behind him, but keep their polite distance from the bed.

H ornet takes one look at the stew and says, “I thought we didn’t have Durandoo meat.”

“Your siblings went out and caught it.” Grimm gestures to the Vessels with a flourish. More are starting to filter into the room, including Ghost and the Hollow Knight. The latter hunkers down across the bed, and is immediately surrounded by their siblings.

“...You have my thanks,” says Hornet, addressing the group as a whole. Once everyone has seated themselves, they partake in the meal. The Durandoo meat is gamey, but lacking the distinct bitter taste that they often have from a life spent in acid waters. Hornet remembers the first time she took one down, and made the mistake of eating it raw. She knew how to hunt, but not how to cook. Many a night was spent alone, with a sour stomach.

Now there are a dozen bugs around her, and good food.


	8. Chapter 8

A warm front has swept over Hallownest, and though it reaches only the surface, it is good enough for Hornet. When she had remarked that the Lifeblood cocoon in the cliffs had replenished itself, Grimm insisted on coming with her. So, with the basket of eggs on her back, the two depart from their home.

Yes, it is safe to call Grimm’s tent her home now. Her heart belongs to it as much as it does to her siblings’ dwelling, where her room awaits her next visit. This early in the morning, the Vessels—most of them down with colds—should all still be asleep. Even Grimm moves at a sluggish pace, with drooped wings and a lot of yawning. Hornet strolls aside him with her hand in his, for once hesitant to stray from his side. Carrying the eggs always makes her more cautious than usual.

The dawn has yet to come, and a look at the slate grey sky tells Hornet that even then they won’t be seeing the sun. The once thick layer of snow has thinned into runny patches, and Grimm’s body heat disperses it further.

Just outside the cave where the cocoon is, Hornet feels movement in the basket. This strikes her as odd: the sides of the basket are so padded that the contents shouldn’t be jostling around. Unless…?

“Grimm, go on ahead. I need to check something.” Hornet hands a folded up net to Grimm, who tilts his head inquisitively.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Hornet swings the basket to her front, and kneels down. “I just worry for the eggs.”

Grimm bows deeply enough to plant a kiss on her forehead. The level of intimacy they have achieved doesn’t make Hornet any less flustered at these little displays of affection. She gently headbutts him, urging him away.

“They’ll be alright, dear,” he reassures her, with warm laughter.

“Just go. One cocoon is worth months of medicine.” Hornet sticks her tongue out at him. If she was going to say anything else, the bump against the side of the basket has silenced her. Grimm, ducking through the cave mouth, hasn’t noticed anything yet.

When something is wrong, it’s best to tell someone. Hornet, who has spent most of her life dealing with things by herself, does not have that instinct. In fact, she waits until Grimm is out of sight before opening the basket. She doesn’t see anything wrong with the weaving, nor has the padding been torn anywhere. With a sinking feeling, she realizes that something might have gotten inside. The chances of this are slim, but it’s the only thing she can think of. Eggs close to hatching are warm and full of nutrients, perfect for a predatory bug.

“Please be alright.” Hornet peers inside. “Please be alright. Please, please, please…”

From inside the cave, Grimm hears Hornet’s shrill cry. He drops the swollen net, not caring that the Lifeseeds spill everywhere. With swift strides he hurries outside, where Hornet kneels with something cupped in her hands. It’s dripping.

“Grimm…!” Hornet looks to him, stricken. Grimm, fearing the worst, feels his heart leap into his throat. But before either of them can properly panic, a sharp cry slices through the air. In Hornet’s hands is a half-hatched Grimmchild. Their bright red body, slick with amniotic fluid, struggles against their gooey shell.

Hornet makes a small, choked noise and helps the little thing out. When she first saw the split egg and the twitching, sightless infant, she thought it had been crushed. Their body is hot and sticky in her hands, but getting her cloak messy doesn’t matter to her. She embraces them to her chest, feeling ready to cry alongside her child.

“We are not the only early risers, it seems.” Grimm’s smile stretches across his face as he looks into the basket. “What a place to hatch.”

Hornet sniffles and cleans the egg residue off the Grimmchild. They pause in their crying to take a gulp of air, before starting up again. They’re so small that she can hold them in one hand. While she is tending to them, Grimm retrieves a second, trembling egg. The two huddle together, having no choice but to let the eggs hatch right here in the wilds. A wind barely strong enough to rustle the pale ferns makes the hatchling in Hornet’s hand shudder, and she immediately holds it to her chest.

The second egg, a Grimmchild of a piebald coloration, hatches on Grimm’s lap. Their cries are weak, and they remain curled while Grimm rubs them between his hands. When the hatchling stretches out and wails, he hands it off to Hornet. In the crook of her arm, both Grimmchildren are as warm as they can get without being indoors.

There is a lull between the first and second pairs of eggs. The two debate briefly on going into the cave where the lifeseeds are scrambling about, but upon entering they find it is not any warmer than where they were.

“We might have time to return to Dirtmouth. We should teleport,” Hornet suggests. They have yet to see any traces of sunlight, which reminds her uncomfortably of the stasis, Hallownest’s eternal night. She wants to be at home for this, not under an overhang of rock with only a campfire for light.

“Not with the little ones, no.” Grimm eases close enough to put a wing around her shoulders. Finally she hands him their children. These are their children: tiny living things, that cry and cling to their parents for warmth. The cocoon, which had been enough of a priority to warrant them leaving so early in the morning, now feels insignificant.

“Then we shall walk.” Hornet peeks into the basket. The other two eggs have not hatched yet, but one of them looks close. She can see the little figure inside twisting about indecisively. They have no other choice but to leave their shelter. At worst, the remaining eggs will hatch inside the basket. Hornet stamps out the fire, and retreats beneath Grimm’s wings. Wind blows from the east, bringing with it heavy clouds.

If Grimm didn’t have his hands full, Hornet would have offered him the basket. Her body, being naturally cool, is not the best for the eggs. Still, she hugs the basket to herself as they trek back the way they came. The walk feels longer than it actually is, on account of being unable to run. Neither of them can afford to jostle the eggs, nor the hatchlings. All the while, Hornet’s mind is racing. They still need the lifeseeds for those who had caught colds. Grimm might have to ask one of her siblings to retrieve her net, but neither of them will want to leave the children. Already Hornet’s hands feel achingly empty without the hatchlings in them.

At the very edge of King’s Pass, after they’ve descended from the ledge, the basket starts to rock again. Hornet’s eyes widen. This isn’t how she wants it to go. Hatching in the dark with the wind howling around them is not what she wants. They are paces from the tent, bowed against the wind, when she hears the third hatchling’s weak cries.

The third is a Vessel, cold-bodied and covered in Void. In the safety of the tent, Hornet swaddles them in a towel while Grimm fills a basin with water. Until Hornet has the time to weave a proper nest, a makeshift one of towels will have to do. The basket she was carrying has been ruined by amniotic fluid and egg bits.

Now that she is settled down with her three children and remaining egg, she realizes how strange it is to be the mother of a Vessel. This little thing with their c urled horns looks like any of her other siblings.  Unlike the Grimmchildren, who flop about in their bedding, the Vessel is already strong enough to grab onto Hornet’s cloak.

“It’s alright,” are the first words Hornet speaks to the child. They start shivering, just in time for Grimm to come over with the tub. She lowers them into the heated water, supporting them with one hand while pouring water over them with the other. She repeats this process with the Grimmchildren, who coo and purr and almost fall asleep in the water. Soon, each child is cocooned and calm, having recovered from their respective births.

The last egg is patient. It rocks from side to side, goes still for several minutes, and then repeats the process. Grimm and Hornet take turns watching over it as they clean up. Now that things have calmed down, they’re able to get a good look at their children.

“This is the smallest Vessel I’ve ever seen,” Hornet muses. A tiny black hand closes around her finger, and her heart swells. What can she say about them? They are the first Vessel to be born in a time of peace, unknowing of the painful circumstances that brought about their kind. And the Grimmchildren—neither are bound to the Ritual.

“They are not tethered to the Nightmare Heart,” Grimm had remarked, while heating up a bottle of oat milk. “But, my goodness, aren’t they little darlings? I could eat them up.”

He coaxes the red one into taking the bottle, and chuckles warmly when they start to drink. “Being born is such difficult business, isn’t it? Have as much as you’d like.”

The piebald one, smelling food, whines until Grimm fixes up a second bottle. Then a third one, which Hornet holds to where the Vessel’s mouth should be. They gulp down the milk greedily, and a terrible thought occurs to Hornet: how many newborn Vessels had starved to death in the Abyss?

She shakes that terrible vision from herself, and focuses on the child in her arms. Her child. They are safe, they are cared for, and she will not let them go hungry so long as she’s around.

The last egg rolls over, and a l ittle leg pierces through its soft shell. With little fanfare, a spiderling pushes out of the egg and flops onto their belly with a loud huff.

Grimm speaks first. “They’re the spitting image of you.”

It’s true. Hornet has seen photos of herself as a newborn, and this little one has the same rounded horns and  Void carapace. Their eyes have barely opened, but she catches a glimpse of scarlet that will set them apart from her.

“They’re so small.” Hornet gulps. “They’re all so small.”

“Those two,” Grimm gestures to the Grimmchildren, who are huddled against each other, “will be taller than you before you know it.”

“Stop. They’re not even an hour old.” Hornet affectionately strokes their little faces. She sets the Vessel next to them, in exchanged for the newly-cleaned and wrapped spiderling. 

Unlike their siblings, they don’t utter a peep. For the most part, they stay still while being held. Hornet rocks them and rubs their back, once leaning down to kiss them between the eyes.  In response to this, they arch their back and yawn.

“Oh, are you bored? Silly thing.” She feels herself choke up a bit. “Grimm, I don’t know what to do.”

Tears slide neatly down her cheeks. She allows Grimm to take the child from her and give them a bottle. She has gotten her wish, gotten children who she will eventually introduce to Deepnest, but this is such a dangerous world. They don’t look ready for anything except more milk, and a long nap. Grimm pulls her into an embrace, rubbing her back as if she herself were a crying grub.

“Neither do I,” he murmurs. Between them, the spiderling sucks noisily at their bottle. They part from their embrace to gaze down at them, then at the other three. They could never truly be ready for this. If nothing else, they both care enough to try.

Hornet brushes her tears away.  For once, she feels like things might turn out well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy winter solstice! I was struggling to get myself motivated to do stuff this week, so I'm happy to finally finish this fic. If I get any good ideas, I'll write a continuation to this. In the meantime, thanks for sticking around to read my self-indulgent stuff, lol


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